Diamond's Call
by Artemisdesari
Summary: What he and Durin did should have been impossible, it shouldn't have worked, and yet here he is breathing when he should be quite dead. Idly he wonders whether there are different degrees of death before his marginally hysterical mind settles back on the fact that his Maker is here, and he is in Trouble. Capital 'T'. Underlined. Twice. Part 3 of Soul Stones


_**A.N: **Part three of my Soul Stones series. _

Diamond's Call.

It's very nearly full dark when Fili wakes again. The tent is cool, the chill of winter barely chased away by the lit braziers which provide both warmth and illumination enough for dwarfish bodies and eyes. This is not a private tent, as one might expect to be given to one in line for the throne of Erebor (not that Fili _wants_ it), but nor is it exactly a public one. The others here are as his own family after months on the road together, after all. Dwalin dozes in a corner, head bowed low even while his hands are still tightly clenched around the handle of his axe. It is strange to see him without Grasper and Keeper nearby and perhaps that strangeness is the reason that he thinks, for just the briefest moment, that he sees the glitter of gems about his crown. He blinks, trying to focus past the aching of his head, and they fade to nothing. He shrugs it off and turns his gaze about the tent, able to spot each member of the company as he shifts though his body protests the movement. They are all either deep in exhausted slumber or in the healing sleep of the injured.

"Do you realise how much trouble you have cause me?" A voice demands and Fili yelps, something that his already protesting ribs make known to be a bad idea.

There is a dwarf at his side who, at first glance, would be assumed to be a Firebreard due to rich colour of His beard and hair. His eyes, however, show that this is _not_ a dwarf. They are ancient and endless, they carry all the joys and sorrows of their race and Fili knows them well. One never forgets their first encounter with their Maker after all.

"Mahal," he breathes, though fear grips his heart. What he and Durin did should have been impossible, it shouldn't have worked, and yet here he is breathing when he should be quite dead. Idly he wonders whether there are different degrees of death before his marginally hysterical mind settles back on the fact that his Maker is _here,_ and he is in Trouble. Capital 'T'. Underlined. _Twice_.

"Worry not," Mahal says a Fili glances at those who surround them, "they will not wake."

"Have you come to undo it?" Fili asks. "Have you come to take us back?" His Maker sighs.

"I should," is the reply, "though I think it might break my heart as much as it did when Eru declared I should destroy my first creations. Fortunately for us _both_, my Father was in a giving mood when he came to berate me for your actions. According to him your survival has improved one of the harmonies and he has decided to allow it to remain. But it is not without its price, and both you and Durin will pay it in time."

"I understand," Fili releases a breath that he hadn't truly realised he had been holding. "I know I should be sorry that I went against You, and I _am_. At least a little. And I know I should have told You what Durin was planning, but it all seemed so reasonable and every time I thought about it, I thought of the things that I never got to do and that Kili never achieved. I thought of how hard Thorin fought to get this place back and everything that he sacrificed for nothing because Dain ended up on the throne. I thought of what our dying must have done to my mother and I couldn't leave it like that. Thorin will be a good king, I know he will, and he won't fall to the gold again."

"I know, lad," Mahal smiles sadly. "You had less than a third of the life I had intended for you, and Durin- Durin is a force that few can stand against with any ease once he has begun. You could not have stood against him and nor would I expect you to do so. You did _well_, lad, remember that I _am_ proud of you when the consequences become too much."

"Consequences?" Fili asks in alarm, struggling to sit up.

"You spent decades in my Halls, Fili, you could not leave them unchanged. Your mind and heart are older and wiser, and you know truths that you cannot now forget, though one day you may wish it."

"Will I go mad?" Fili whispers.

"No, but it will not be easy," Mahal chuckles. "Much of the blame for this has been place upon Durin and my wife. It does my heart good to see her so impulsive and for the sake of so many of _my_ children as much as for a single one of her own." Fili smiles. "I have one other thing for you, something you left behind." Mahal turns Fili's hand so that He can drop the black diamond Fili picked up on his first day in the Halls into his palm. "Set it in a bead for her," his Maker instructs with a wink before turning His gaze upon the tent entrance.

A healer stands there, her dark brows pulled into a frown. This is the one who was tending to him when he first woke, Fili realises, able to clearly see the dance of pink opal, amber and black diamond about her heart. More than that, however, is the crown of gems about her head; angelite, jade, aquamarine and purple sapphire.

"Hers is the only heart you will ever see," Mahal mutters to him, "take comfort in that at least."

"How did You get in here?" The healer demands, striding towards them.

"The same way as I intend on leaving, child," Mahal smiles, approaching her. "Sweet Arja," he says when he reaches her. "The first of so many broken futures mended."

He takes her hand to place something in it and her baffled protests fall silent when He touches her. He leans in and mutters quietly to her and an expression that can only be described as terrified awe comes over her face. He doesn't hear what the Vala says to her, only sees her clutch her hand to her chest as He strides out of the tent. In a strange way, with Mahal's departure the air in the tent seems, quite suddenly, to become lighter and easier to breathe.

"Arja?" He calls softly, and she turns to him. "That is what he called you, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord," her expression is still slightly dazed, not that he blames her.

"I need you to swear to me that you will not mention this encounter to anyone," he says firmly. "What He and I discussed cannot be truly explained and, honestly, with how my head hurts I would hate to begin to try."

"It is done," she replies, "He asked something similar of me. How are you feeling?" She seems to shake herself, falling back into the role of a healer with little effort.

"My head hurts, my ribs hurt, my feet feel like a troll has crushed them and I'm _itching_ all over."

"I can get you some poppy milk for the pain, but the itching will have to wait until we can get you into a proper bath. There's only so much a bed wash can do against orc blood."

"Delightful," he grumbles. "How soon can a bath be organised? Even a cold one." He squirms against the itch of dried blood, the movement irritating his tightly bound ribs.

"You just woke up," she tells him, "you're hardly in any condition to walk out of this tent, let alone _bathe_."

"What if my healer came with me?" He grins. She raises and eyebrow though her lips quirk.

"I'm sure you're not the first to make Oin such an offer," she smirks. "I almost envy him. Come on, just a drop from the poppy to ease you. The best thing for you to do is sleep." He doesn't want to sleep more, fears that if he does he will wake back in the Halls after a period of rest and this will all have been a dream. He turns his face away.

"Please," he breathes, "I feel like I have been asleep for decades. Can we not just talk for a spell?"

"I have others to check over," she replies. "And you must sleep if you are to heal." She doesn't look at him directly, he notes, her dark eyes focus on a point just over his shoulder. Every now and then, however, they flicker down before darting away again.

"What do you see?" He asks her and she turns a startled gaze upon him. "Tell me what you see that makes you so reluctant to look at me."

"I see the impossible," she whispers. "I see diamonds and rubies and blue agates. I see fire opals."

"Do you know what it means?" He asks.

"I'm too young," she answers too quickly.

She knows, he thinks, though she should not and that makes her less than eighty as Durin had told him that this is a secret not shared until that year of their lives. When he had asked Thorin why he had never been told, his uncle has answered that it had been kept from him because they did not wish him to tell Kili too soon. The brothers have never kept secrets from one another, and Fili knows that he would not have held his tongue.

"Who told you?" He grins and she rolls her eyes.

"My brother. He was seventy-two and a new merchant came with a Blacklock caravan. He was terrified that he was going mad and so we asked my mother together."

"Then why won't you look at me?" Fili demands, because he cannot _stop _looking now that he has seen.

"We are an impossibility," she replies. "I realised that as soon as you were brought into this tent. You are a prince of Erebor. I am a healer from the Iron Hills. You're a skilled warrior from a line of skilled warriors. I can barely wield my axe competently enough to be permitted near battle. What kind of queen would that make me?"

"A healing one," Fili answers without needing to think. "At the end of every battle there is a healer. My family has warriors aplenty, as you said. There is uncle, my mother, my brother and I. Most of our cousins are skilled warriors as well as politicians and traders. We need a healer for balance. _Erebor_ needs healing now that she has been won. What better sort of queen could she have?"

"And what of my blood?" She asks. "My father is a Longbeard, true, but my mother is of Blacklock and Stiffbeard decent." Which certainly explains the multitude of braids her dark hair has been woven into and the darker than normal shade of her skin. Boradbeams, Longbeards and Firebeards have always been pale. Even Stiffbeards, for all their eastern halls, are pale in comparison to their Stonefoot, Blacklock and Ironfist kin.

"My father was a Broadbeam miner," he shrugs. "Hardly the great lord you would expect a princess to marry. Why not decide whether we will suit one another for ourselves, before we decide that it cannot possibly be?"

He reaches for her hand as he makes the suggestion. It is still tightly clenched, and he coaxes it open to see a fire opal glistening there. He grins. Mahal, at least, thinks that they will work, and He should know. Arja still hesitates, her eyes fixed on the glow of the jewel in her hand.

"Do you know what I see?" He asks. She shakes her head. "When I look at you, I see amber and pink opals, the stones of healers, and with them are black diamonds. Those are the rarest of all and Mahal's gift to _me_." He opens his hand and hears her draw a breath.

"When you are healed," she says. "When you are healed, we will speak of it again." _That_ he can agree with. There is little more tedious than trying to give attention to another only to be prevented by healing injuries. "Now, my prince, you _must_ rest." She orders. "The quicker you are healed the sooner we can begin."

He agrees, although he is still reluctant to sleep, and accepts the poppy milk with a grimace, it always gives him troubling dreams whether awake or not. He falls drifts to sleep watching Arja move from cot to cot, checking her patients with gentle hands and humming a soft tune.

* * *

_**A.N:** Stone Meanings:_  
_Angelite: Communication, a healing mind,_  
_Jade: Calm intelligence _  
_Aquamarine: Confidence and emotional stability_  
_Purple sapphire: Intuitive_  
_Pink opal: Hope, healing love_  
_Amber: Healing_  
_Black diamond: Eternal, passionate love_  
_Diamonds: Strength of emotions_  
_Ruby: Passion, usually love but often hate_  
_Blue agates: Understanding_  
_Fire opal: Great love_

_Honestly, I don't actually have a real plan. I'm just writing them as they pop into my head. I'll keep posting them as separate stories because after each one I could potentially end it. I've got ideas for another five or six. Whether I write them or not depends on if they decide to let me. I should be writing the next part of Jewel of Durin._


End file.
